


Insanity Is Our Clarity

by WincestMistress



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Anal Sex, Blood, Bloodlust, Bloodplay, Bottom Sam, Corruption, Death, Killing, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Psychopath Dean, Psychopaths In Love, Rough Sex, Serial Killer Dean, Serial Killer Sam, Serial Killers, Sexual Content, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WincestMistress/pseuds/WincestMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester brothers were what plagued the night; the very reason people were told to stay off of the streets. This was their city, with which to do whatever they pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insanity Is Our Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> A short thing I wrote while listening to Clarity by Zedd- I have no idea where this came from or how the song inspired this, but it just sort of happened. So, here's some bloody, psychopathic Wincest.

He smiled at me as he grabbed my hand, dragging me out onto the street with him. It was madness, but that was us; I don't think we cared anymore at that point. We were too far gone to care about anything but each other and what we had to do.   
It was perfection.

Had to admit it, everything about our lives was insanity, so if displays of our madness were what we needed, then so be it. The excitement was what we lived for; those gritty clubs and the pure rush of running out after I had to pull a gun on someone while my brother messed up the guy's face with that pretty little knife of his, ending up skipping down the dark streets that echoed with our footsteps, our laughter bouncing off of the walls as he pressed me against the crumbling brickwork and pulled me down to run his bloody hands through my long hair. No one else could ever appreciate his delicate art the way I did.   
He was perfection. 

Neon signs and flashes of red and blue lit the alleys around us as we danced between bodies, sirens blaring over and over as the men shouted to each other- desperately trying to catch the pair that had seen it all, done it all. Some days we were tempted to let them catch us just to see what it was like the second time round, but that would mean our fun would end, and that place was old news anyway. We were free spirits- we needed this feeling to live; to be so close to the edge, to fight, to run, to feel the blood flowing down our knives as we dragged our nails over each other's burning skin. He once covered my lips in the blood of one of my victims and kissed me breathless, murmuring that he was so proud of what I'd done, how beautifully I'd decorated the room with the empty shells of men. I never missed an opportunity to please him since that first time. That being said, he did it all for me too, to have me happy; to see the psychotic grin that had become at home on my lips, mirroring his own.   
We were perfection. 

We painted all the walls we could find red on weekends- the floors too, depending on our mood. Sometimes we'd just leave little notes for the others to find and know that it was us that had gotten the job done. Hey, even if they didn't want us to do it, it was what we enjoyed- who were they to tell us any different? They actually came for us one night, having finally tracked us to where we were often spotted celebrating our nights' outings with some rough passion or by finger-painting our bodies with red as the rain tried in vain to chill us to the bone. That was where we were when they found us; a group of them having moved through our small ground-level flat to reach us, the other handful moving through the thin backstreets to interrupt what we were doing. They didn't value the act we were engaged in, tearing us apart and pushing us both to the ground with cold weapons held to our skulls- it was awfully dull. Words were muttered angrily, nervously, but we weren't listening- they didn't deserve our attention. They were boring, bursting into our domain to try and stop our fun. They truly had no idea what they were in for. We shared a dark look; our shirts still open with stained edges dipping into puddles, chests etched with the most beautiful designs we'd drawn into and onto each other's skin in the blood of others- we knew exactly what was next for us on our list.   
How could they be so blind to our perfection?

The men fell so, so painfully easily- we'd need to find something else to do to make the night worthwhile after that, but at least we got to resume our intense session. He took me rough and raw against the wall, tearing me up from the inside as I moaned and screamed his name into his neck and maimed the beautiful skin there, eyes fixed on the bodies that littered the ground over his shoulder as I grinned maliciously at them with teeth stained red. Neither of us knew whose blood was whose by the time we were done, but that just added to the erotic rush we felt. Before long, he gave me that look again; and so we ran, joined at the hand, without a care for what waited around the corner for us. The night was ours, as were the people of the city; if we wanted them to kneel, they would, and if we wanted them to become part of our grand masterpiece then they certainly would, in one way or another- everyone would fall at the feet of the Winchesters in the end.   
Our world was perfection...even if we were the only ones who could see it.

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for any grammatical errors- I wrote this late at night and just needed to post it!


End file.
